Voices from the Past
by koalabear
Summary: Companion piece to "Benton's Mother"


We have pulled together a series of writings based on our original stories 'Benton's Mother' and 'A Stronger Man than I...',
    five from Robert Fraser (Claire), and 4 from Caroline Pinsent (Koala). We very much hope that you like what we've written, and comments
    would be welcomed by both of us.
    Claire Budd
    pedutacb@globalnet.co.uk
    Koala
    Disclaimer: These characters belong to Alliance, and no infringement   
    of their rights is meant or implied in their use, etc.
    **Voices from the Past **by Claire Budd & Koala
    **From Robert: 'Her name is Caroline...' Spring 1961**
    Her name is Caroline. Caroline Pinsent. I saw her for the first   
    time yesterday, as she walked across the road in front of the police
    station. She radiates loveliness in a way I cannot describe. She   
    needs none of the fancy face-paint that is the current fashion. Some
    might say that she isn't even pretty. But as she walked off down the   
    road yesterday, I could not take my eyes off her. Buck keeps joshing
    me about it. He thinks I don't know what a woman is. I've tried to   
    make him understand how I feel, that I'll know the right girl when I
    meet her, but I truly believe it's beyond his comprehension. How   
    could he understand when he has a woman permanently on each arm, as
    soon as he's off-duty. He'll learn though. When he finally finds   
    that soon-to-be Mrs Frobisher, he's going to fall hard.
    Tonight was the Annual District Dance. Caroline was there, with her   
    father, and all the young turks from the town buzzing round her like
    bees to a honeypot. I've never seen a woman cope well with that sort   
    of attention before. In my admittedly limited experience, they usually
    blush and try to hide, or play up to it terribly. But she stood calmly   
    amongst the circle of admirers, and deflected the comments and
    questions like snow off a caribou's back. And I could swear that she was   
    looking at me. I've never had the courage to walk right up to a
    woman before and ask her to dance. But I found myself standing in   
    front of her, without realising what I was doing there,and the band
    was playing. It was only natural that we should dance
    She is so slender in my arms, so delicate - as if the faintest breeze   
    would blow her away. But from the short conversation we had tonight,
    I can tell that she has a strength inside her that is immeasurable.   
    Her father has just been posted here, as the new Staff Sergeant, and
    her mother is dead. I didn't ask how. I have a feeling that part of   
    her inner strength comes from her life as an RCMP child and from losing
    her mother. She was so calm when she mentioned it, that I believe   
    it must have been some time ago.
    When the dance was over, from somewhere I found the courage to ask if   
    I could see her again. And she said yes - I thought I'd misheard
    her, so sure was I that she would want nothing to do with me. Although   
    I've been on the force only a few years, little fazes me
    nowadays. But *she* does. And I've know her less than a day. My God!   
    What am I letting myself in for. I can see her father looking at
    me from across the yard. I shall have to talk to him tomorrow; ensure   
    him of my honest intentions. I can't believe that I'm thinking like this
    already. It's only been *one* day. Calm yourself, Fraser - you can't   
    possibly decide that fast. But when I close my eyes, I see her dark
    brown hair, her well-defined nose, her freckled cheeks, her beautiful blue   
    eyes, and I know that my feelings for her will never change. I have
    every line of her face ingrained in my mind after only a few hours.
    Gerrard would understand how I'm feeling now. I'd dearly like to talk   
    to him about all this, but he'll be in Whitehorse for another 6 months.
    So I will keep my own counsel, and if I end up making a fool of   
    myself - so be it. How does the saying go -'Nothing ventured, nothing gained.'
    I always thought that was somewhat trite, but in this instance it's   
    entirely apt. I will venture my peace of mind and possible
    embarrassment, in order to gain Caroline. It is that simple.
    I love her.
    Robert Fraser loves Caroline Pinsent.
    --------------------------------
    **From Caroline: 'Dear Diary'
    **
    Caroline paced the floor, biting her lower lip in frustration. Stopping   
    before the mirror she stared at her reflection long and critically. Her
    ordinary brown hair, nose which had a great deal of 'character' but was   
    all too decisive for comfort and her freckled cheeks which made
    her look wholesome. Her face was flushed for no apparent reason, and   
    there was a twinkle of mockery in her deep blue eyes as she
    stared at the reflection.
    "Who do you think you are? A Victorian heroine? Next you'll be   
    beating your breast and singing languishing love songs."
    It irked her that she had no one to tell. She had already tidied the   
    house three times, re-folded all the linen in the closet several times....
    weeded the garden.... and reshelved all of the books on the shelves   
    with the air of someone trying hard to forget something. There was
    no mending in the house to be done. As usual, the house was impeccably   
    neat. Dust always shrivelled up in the presence of the
    indomitable and infinitely practical Caroline Pinsent. Her father's men   
    joked that she would have been a more conscientious task-master
    than even her father.
    Finally, in exasperation she threw herself into the seat by the window   
    and pulled out a sheaf of fresh paper, searched for a pen and frowned
    at the blank pages.
    _Dear Diary,
    Don't think that I'm surrendering to the feminine weakness of diary-writing.   
    If Alice wasn't so far away and if I wasn't still feeling
    like a stranger in this place, I certainly would not have succumbed to   
    writing things like this on paper!
    _
    Caroline's hand-writing was energetic, neat and as no-nonsense as   
    she was. She wrote as if there were invisible lines on the page and the
    neat copperplate belied the energy and exasperation of her words.
    _I've met the most amazing man. One moment I was standing there   
    surrounded by strangers at a dance, and the next moment I was
    staring into the most amazing eyes I've ever seen. It was one of   
    the RCMP officers, standing by the edge of the dancefloor as awkward
    as you please...... I knew he was an officer because was that straight,   
    distinction about the way he stood. I imagine he would have been as
    neat as a pin had he been in uniform. As it was, his clothes were   
    in lamentable disrepair. One of the buttons on shirt had been resewn
    crookedly and there was *mustard* stain on his collar. Nonetheless,   
    there was *something* about those unfathomable eyes which made
    me wonder about him.
    The dance was an amazing crush with so many people present. Everyone   
    was terribly friendly, and father constantly looked to me to
    ensure that I was enjoying myself. He had such a hopeful smile when   
    I danced with Buck Frobisher, and I can tell that this young man is
    one of his favourites. Frobisher has a certain rakish charm, but I   
    can tell that he overindulges and is completely without discipline. He
    attempted to flirt outrageously with me, but I forestalled him by   
    discussing the most efficient method to ensure that the water pipes
    around the house do not freeze.
    Then, before I knew what was happening, *he* was there. Yes, feel
    free to laugh at my melodrama, but he was striding towards me. He
    is 1 metre and 92 centimetres tall and weighs, at a glance perhaps 85
    kilograms. His hair is dark and was slightly untidy. His teeth are
    good and even and he looks strong and healthy - if a trifle thin...... as
    if perhaps he was in need of a good meal. He stumbled as he crossed
    the room, tripping over his feet and by the time he reached me, he was
    smiling foolishly, looking a little hesitant......but that smile....... It
    made me forget that his shirt had several loose threads and that his
    jacket was in need of a good brushing and that his trousers were
    creased......He made me feel so tiny without making me feel dwarfed.
    He asked me to dance and the music was playing a sweet Irish aire
    and I couldn't say no when he looked at me so eloquently. His
    awkwardness vanished as we danced and I found that he had the
    imaginative soul of a dreamer and the glib tongue of a poet. I confess
    to having revealed more about myself to him than perhaps I might
    have wished. It is very easy to talk when a man listens to you with
    that attentiveness which suggests that you are saying what he has
    waited all his life to hear. I grimace when I find myself writing such
    trite sentimentality.
    He has asked me out again. I accepted. I wonder whether I've done
    the right thing. His name is Robert and he needs me. All the loneliness
    in the world looks at me from those deep, deep eyes.....and whoever is
    looking after him right now is doing a deplorable job. If he was mine, I'd
    ensure that he never went hungry and that he would never ever wear a
    crumpled shirt.
    _
    Caroline put her pen down, read the closely written sheets several
    times. She ensured that all the 'i's' were dotted and the 't's were
    crossed, and that her punctuation was correct. Then she calmly
    folded the paper in half.
    Very deliberately, she tore the paper in half, then in quarters and
    threw the pieces into the fireplace and watched as her written
    thoughts were lit up in bright relief against the flames and then
    vanished into charred pieces. When she was satisfied that her
    thoughts were safe from prying eyes, she walked into the kitchen
    to prepare dinner.
    -----------------------------------------------------
    **From Robert: 'Wedding Blues' Winter 1961
    **
    When I asked Sgt Pinsent for Caroline's hand in marriage, I never really
    understood what I was letting myself in for. It's not being with Caroline
    for the rest of my life that is the concern - we both know that we were
    meant to be together. It's the neverending lists of minutiae for this
    blessed wedding that I can't get to grips with.
    Caroline and I have not exchanged one cross word yet, and I fervently
    hope that we never will. But we came close today and all because we
    have to fulfil everyone's expectations of what a wedding should be. I
    could see her lip tremble as she kept her mouth shut tight, trying not
    to say something rash to my Mother. I love her dearly, but I do wish
    Mum would remember that I'm a grown man, and I can make my own
    decisions now. Dad is keeping well out of it, as usual. This seems to
    be a wise decision. When I walked Caroline back to her Father's house,
    I could see that she was upset, and I tried to find the right words to tell
    her that everything would be fine.
    But I could see that this was the wrong thing to say, even as I spoke the
    words. You know, she has that way of raising her eyebrow and looking up
    at me, that says 'Oh, so you really think so?' And I'm not going to argue
    with her when we get to that stage.
    I know that Caroline wants a simple service in the local chapel, but I
    so want to give her more than that, she deserves everything. I want
    to celebrate the fact that she is becoming my wife - I want the world
    to know what I think of her. Since she came into my life, I cannot
    begin to express the effect she has had on me. Even Gerrard says
    he can notice the difference now that she's taken me in hand, and he
    always laughs when he says this. It's getting a bit wearing now. I
    think he should turn his attentions to Buck - if I'm not much mistaken,
    he won't be far behind me walking down the aisle. I always said he'd
    fall hard, and boy, was I right. Hook, line and sinker - he's a new man!!
    Sgt Pinsent has told me in no uncertain terms that he expects the
    best for his daughter. I'm surprised he said yes, when I asked for
    her hand. But Caroline says that he's really pleased and couldn't
    wish for a better son-in-law. I just wish he would show it sometimes.
    I know that men have a hard time expressing emotion, but I'm going
    to be family, for God's sake. Buck has agreed to be my best man,
    at last! I thought I would have to ask Gerrard after all, but he's still
    sore at me for asking Frobisher in the first place. Not that Gerrard
    wouldn't make a sterling best man - it's just that Buck and I have
    become great friends over the last year and Gerry has only just
    returned from Fort Good Hope.
    I can hear Caroline's footsteps down the corridor - she has a very
    distinctive rhythm and is so light on her feet, even in her snow boots,
    that I know of her approach instantly. I'll go and meet her halfway, in
    the corridor and on the wedding 'issue'.
    Robert loves Caroline more than ever.
    -------------------------------------------------
    **Caroline: 'Till death do us part'
    **
    _All right diary, you needn't look so smug. At any rate, at least no
    one will ever read this except me. Fortunately I clean the fireplace
    otherwise I'm sure father would comment on the quantities of
    charred paper that keep materialising in the fireplace. I don't like
    diaries.... I hate the thought of opening my soul like that, but I
    don't mind allowing the flames to know my innermost thoughts.
    It hasn't been the best of days, I fear. Mrs Fraser, Robert's doting
    mama is an absolute martinet. She has done her best to browbeat
    me since encountering me, and it is she who is the only faintly
    gloomy shadow in an otherwise bright and sunny day.
    My Robert is a hopelessly impractical and romantic man. The
    wedding preparations threaten to engulf us and consume us with
    their complexities. He tells me that he wants nothing more than to
    give me the pomp and ceremony that I deserve. Sometimes, I think
    it would be lovely to run out into the middle of nowhere, preacher and
    wedding congregation in tow and be wed beneath the blue sky. I
    suppose we'd all have to wear snow boots and someone would be
    sure to catch a chill. Still, it's a lovely thought.
    I'm glad Robert asked Buck Frobisher to be best man. He might be
    a self-indulgent womaniser, but there's heart in him, and I find that
    he's an engaging rogue. I've never completely warmed to Gerrard.....
    there's something cool and calculating in that man's eyes and there
    are too many secrets within for my liking.
    Father's looking very bemused these days. It's just been the two of
    us for so very long, I think he'll be very lonely without me, but it's not
    as if I'll be in a far away place like Banff Island.... I won't be very far
    away at all.
    I shouldn't complain though. I'm an ungrateful wretch to allow any
    of the little things to cloud my happiness. Perhaps it's just wedding
    nerves. There are so many things to think about. We've been
    furnishing the house and I can just imagine how everything will look
    when we're settled. It's a place to be happy and raise children.....
    lots and lots of them. I know it's early to be speaking of children, but
    I went through mother's hope chest last night. I was looking at her
    exquisite wedding dress..... but while I was there, I couldn't help
    seeing the little baby clothes and the christening gown which
    were stitched with such care and skill.
    I can't believe I'm sitting here with my head I the clouds like this.
    There's so much to be done.... there's food to be cooked, the house
    to be cleaned and a multitude of other tasks. I can see Mrs Fraser
    striding towards me purposefully. Diary, you'll be tucked into my
    pocket and as soon as I'm able, it will be the fireplace for you._
    -------------------------------------------------
    **From Robert: Will it be a Boy or a Girl? Early Spring 1962
    **
    My darling Caroline is expecting! She's going to have my child. I
    can hardly write straight as I think of this. Her letter arrived this
    morning. It's dated two weeks ago, but then the post always takes
    so long to reach me here. How I wish I could be with her right now,
    to take her in my arms and tell how much I love her, how much I
    will love our child. At this moment in my life, I am totally content -
    apart from the fact that there are some 500 miles separating us. I
    wish we could have found somewherecloser for her to live, whilst I'm
    posted up here, but it was just impossible. I sense from her letters
    that she has arrived at some sort of truce with Mum. I'm glad - I
    hope it holds till I get back.
    Caroline says she knows what the child will be. Is this female
    intuition or just fanciful thinking I wonder. I wouldn't put it past her to
    know for sure, she seems to have an innate sense of everything
    around her. She is so level-headed, which is a good balance for me
    I suppose as she keeps my feet firmly fixed on the ground. But she
    has that wonderful ability to let her imagination soar. And then she
    sees me grinning at her, as I recognise that look on her face, and
    she'll throw the nearest cushion at me. That's probably what brought
    on the ill feeling between her and Mum -I *did* tell her I'd pay for the
    vase!
    Caroline already has a book of baby names. And I can see there will
    be another tussle with Mum when I get back, about this. If it's a boy,
    I'd rather like to use Caroline's Fathers name. It would be a nice way
    to honour the old man. Caroline still misses him deeply, and his
    photograph has a special place on the sideboard. I don't know whether
    he knew he was dying, but towards the end he seemed to open up to
    me. He told me so much about Caroline that even *she* had kept
    hidden from me. We talked about it a lot, after he passed away. And
    he said he was proud of me, that I was his son-in-law - not because
    I'm good at my job, or getting a reputation. That didn't seem to interest
    him. He said it was because I cared. Yes, I think it would be a fine
    name. And Caroline will like it, I know. Benton ... Benton Fraser. A
    name to live up to.
    ----------------------------------------------
    **From Caroline: 'Everytime we say goodbye, I wonder why a little'**
    _He has tiny hands and such a serious expression on his little face
    when he looked at me with those deep blue eyes of his. My beautiful
    blue-eyed Benton. How I wish you were here with me, Robert. Giving
    birth to our son made me miss you even more desperately than I
    already do. The midwife assures me that it was best that you were not
    here. Lisa is half Inuit and she tells me that even the bravest warrior
    finds it hard to deal with the sight of a woman in labour. I cannot be
    sure I agree with her. I find myself smiling when she tells me that
    she has seen stalwart men faint after declaring that they will not
    touch their wives again. It seems that she is all for preserving a
    feminine mystique.
    The night seemed so long and dark without you, and I thought of our
    son within me as he lived and it humbled me to think that he would
    soon *breathe* the air that I breathed. His lungs were so strong and
    his cry was so emphatic when the midwife held him up to the light,
    and I could have sworn that he opened his eyes and stared at me
    with an uncannily unblinking stare. There were tears streaming
    down my face.
    It isn't an easy thing for me to write all these things down, Robert.
    You know I've ever have your talent for writing your thoughts onto
    paper, and I've always felt vulnerable by putting pen to paper. It's
    almost as if I've feared that seeing my words in print would somehow
    make things *real* - including my anxieties and insecurities.
    The birth of our son is something I will always remember, and you
    should have something to remember as well, and if my poor words
    can convey *something* of the experience, then I will be well-pleased.
    I have named him Benton, after my father and I find myself tracing his
    cheek and nose and smiling whimsically at him as his eyes blink
    sleepily at me. He is so tiny.... but I've already said that, haven't I?
    Your mother is well-pleased with him. She chides me for holding him
    so much. I cradle him to my breast and sing him silly little songs, and
    she claims that I spoil him shamelessly. She tells me that I will raise
    a weakling and that he should be a man. I exchange a secret smile
    with Benton and kiss his bald head, breathing deeply of his scent and
    nothing your mother says can dim my happiness.
    Your parents seem bemused by our son. Both of them have yet to
    hold him. When I ask if they would like to carry him, they demur.
    Your father has been most attentive and watches Benton a great
    deal, and when I cover Benton's face with little kisses, I look up and
    see your father staring at me with perplexity furrowing his brow.
    Babies *should* be hugged and kissed. He might be of hardy
    mountie stock, but he's just a little child who cries when he's
    frightened and sleeps when he's exhausted. Seeing your parents
    thus, makes me wonder about you, Robert. I think of what it must
    have been like to grow up with your parents and think of how much
    you missed - the laughter, the tenderness, the silliness......
    I am recovering well, and am able to clean and cook. Even your
    mother cannot fault my recovery and I am glad to say that the house
    did not fall into disarray during my confinement. Now, I am able to
    move around the house and Benton's eyes follow me as he makes
    baby noises. The house is not quite so empty now, but I miss you
    Robert. I think of how it must be for you to be so far away. I just
    *know* that you're not looking after yourself. Closing my eyes, I
    can envisage your clothes falling apart, and I know that you're not
    eating well. Have you worn yourself to the bone doing good works
    for others? You needn't deny it, Robert - I know you too well. Even
    now, I know you would laugh and demand: 'Am I so very predictable?'
    At night I dream of you, and of our son. There are so many things
    that he can learn and experience. Our son deserves all the love
    and joy we can give him, and he yearns for his father, as I long for
    my husband. Come home to me soon, Robert.
    Caroline
    _
    ----------------------------------------------
    **From Robert: 'Talk to me...' Autumn 1967
    **
    The weather has been awful here for the last few weeks. No chance
    of any mail getting through this far north. Usually I wouldn't worry
    about this - but I am concerned about Caroline. Her letters are
    normally so open and honest in what she's feeling and thinking,
    that I can almost imagine myself standing beside her as she goes
    about her daily routine. I've tried to tell her how much this means
    to me, to be able to transport myself across the hundreds of miles
    that separate us, and feel that I'm still a part of her life. And Ben's
    life. He's growing so fast, I'm not sure I'd be able to recognise
    him each time I see him, except Caroline sends me a photograph
    regularly. But I know that he has trouble remembering me, I'm more
    like a visiting uncle each time I turn up on the doorstep. He's still
    so young, only five years old. And it hurts to see the lack of
    recognition on his face, when I first arrive home. There will be time
    to get to know each other more next year, when this posting finishes,
    and we're all back together again.
    I've read her last letter several times now, memorising whole passages.
    Well, there's not much else to do here when I'm off duty. The more I
    read the letter, the more I know that there is something she is not
    telling me. Don't ask me how, I've never been able to figure out the
    workings of the female mind. But I can sense that the scraps of day
    to day happenings and inordinate detail she's filling the page with are
    all just a cover. What is wrong? What is *so* wrong that she feels
    she can't talk to me? We've always been honest with each other.
    She knows there is nothing I wouldn't tell her.
    There has been a lot to bear for both of us - the physical distance
    between us for so long and so often; that dreadful posting last year to
    The Rat. I've never seen Caroline so upset, I thought she was going to
    crown Sgt Yatto's wife when the silly woman asked her why she felt it
    necessary to traipse around the country after her husband. But Caroline
    knew it wouldn't have done either of us any good. Mrs Yatto carries too
    much weight, literally and figuratively. I think her tone must have
    reminded Caroline of my Mother!!
    And all of this mounts up, and part of me dreads what it might mean.
    I cannot truly believe that she wants to leave me. I *fear* it, but I
    can't believe it. We are two halves of the same person - she with
    her feet on the ground, me with my head in the clouds, as she often
    likes to remind me! I know that I wouldn't be able to live without her
    in my life now. And she has told me often that no-one could ever
    replace me in her affection - not even Ben. What they have is
    something special, something different. And yes, I admit that I am
    jealous of this sometimes, without reason. But in my heart, I know
    Caroline will always be true to me. So, what else can it be? I have
    wracked my brain repeatedly and can think of nothing.
    I hate to do this, but I think I'm going to have to write to Dad and
    see if he knows anything. Mum and Dad are living quite close to them
    at the moment, so they see each other regularly - I think Caroline
    suffers this to keep me happy, she'd certainly not volunteer to be in the
    same house as Mum!! But Dad is usually quite perceptive, and he
    knows that I worry about the two of them being on their own and me
    being so far away. If I don't hear from Caroline soon, I'll write to him. I
    really don't want to, but what else is there to do...I'm so cut off up here,
    and I need to reach her somehow.
    Write to me soon, Caroline....please.
    ----------------------------------------------
    **From Caroline: 'Feeling Alone'
    **
    _My dearest Robert,
    Benton's been asking about you today. He watches all the RCMP
    officers with wide-eyes and follows them everywhere, and then
    returns to me and asks me countless questions about you. He is
    very proud of himself because he can write you letters and it delights
    him to seal up the envelope and stick the stamp to the corner. Each
    picture that he draws for you is brought to me for my approval.
    He makes me laugh with his droll observations, and he is so *patient*.
    I've seen him sitting on the doorstep staring at a bird, and when I've
    asked him what he's doing he'll tell me he's just *watching*, and he's
    so still and alert. He is a delight, Robert, and an endless source of
    joy to me especially when -
    _
    The ink splattered like blood on the paper and the pen fell from
    Caroline's nerveless fingers and she glanced at her ashen face in
    the mirror and her normally serene blue eyes were wide and panicked
    as another stabbing pain went through her body.
    "Mother! What's wrong?" Benton demanded of her anxiously.
    Caroline took deep breaths and turned to smile at her son,
    "I'm fine, Benton. I'm just a little tired," she told him and he
    frowned at her, unconvinced by her lie. He would have asked more,
    but his ears pricked up as he heard the resolute tread of his
    grandmother.
    Mrs Fraser strode into the room and stared accusingly at Caroline.
    "You look deathly sick." Caroline forced herself to smile,
    "I'm just tired, ma'am," she said courteously.
    Mrs Fraser's face softened imperceptibly,"Robert ought to be ashamed
    of himself, leaving you here to pine over him."
    Caroline's eyes filled. This unexpected sympathy was almost more
    than she could bear and her hands trembled. She attempted to rise,
    "Can I get you a cup of tea or coffee?" she started to ask, and the
    world spun around and around until there was nothing but blackness.
    _Robert,
    I'm dying.
    _
    Caroline's words were scrawled and irregular and she stared at the
    bleak words. Dr DuClos had told her nothing. He had merely taken
    her temperature, stared at her wasted limbs and pale skin for a long
    moment and had taken Mrs Fraser aside where they had spoken in
    low whispers. Benton sat in the corner of her room, staring at her
    wide-eyed, unable to sit too close because her pain-wracked body
    was so fragile and delicate.
    _At first, I thought I was just tired, but then the dizzy spells came, and
    then the pain. The pain is beyond anything I have ever experienced
    and as I see Dr DuClos shaking his head and your mother with her
    head bowed in sorrow, I know that things must be black indeed.
    I know you will be angry that I do not send for you, but I cannot bear
    for you to see me like this, Robert. Would you still love me if you saw
    what I had become? It grieves me to see how much Benton suffers.
    He refuses to leave me, and he is like a nurse to me as he brings me
    food and drink and talks to me in the night when the pain comes and
    my nightmares and reality merge into one. In the darkness, I am so
    afraid. I don't want to die, I'm not ready to die and I can't bear to leave
    you and to leave Benton when you both need me so much. At night,
    I can see the darkness that I will soon vanish into and thought I muffle
    my sobs, Benton's sixth sense brings him to me and he soothes me
    the way I would soothe him when he had nightmares.
    I'm such a coward, Robert. Our little son has more courage and
    strength in him that I ever had. In his eyes I see you, I can see
    your boundless love and love of life and beauty. I do not know
    whether I can bear this parting- _
    Caroline's strength gave out and her thin shoulders shook with her
    sobs of frustration and grief. Benton crept up to the bed and laid his
    hand on his mother's weak hand... very gently, for he already know
    that any pressure caused bruises on her skin. Her bones looked as
    if they could poke through her skin and each sob tore through him.
    He held her hand until she fell into an exhausted sleep and he
    listened carefully for the sound of her breathing. He let out a tiny
    sigh of relief as he heard her breathing. He had once rescued a
    rabbit from a wolf, only to watch it die in his arms... it's pulse dying
    away to nothing. He had been left with a warm, still body in his
    hands. His eyes went the crumpled piece of paper by his mother's
    bed.
    "Benton."
    "Yes mother?" Benton looked up from where he was drawing pictures
    and saw that his mother had awoken. The morning sunlight streamed
    through the window and gave her face a deceptively healthy glow.
    Caroline frowned,"What happened to my letter?"
    "I saw you wrote it to dad."
    "What did you do with it?" she asked him and Benton met her gaze
    squarely.
    "I put it in with a letter from me and asked him to come home." he
    told her.
    "You _**posted**_ it?" she demanded incredulously.
    "I didn't want you to burn this one." he told her. "I want dad to come
    home.... I miss him." he said, his mouth trembling, for despite his
    wisdom, he was only a little boy.
    Caroline lay back against the pillows, her thoughts jostling within
    her mind. She hadn't intended Robert to read her lapse into weakness.....
    but suddenly she didn't care. All that mattered was that he would
    return and she would be with him once more. She would wait until he
    returned. The sunlight chased the shadows away and Benton sat on
    the edge of the bed very carefully, and Caroline held him closely,
    cradling him against her heart as if she could never let him go.
    -----------------------------------------------------
    **From Robert: 'After Life '
    May 20th, 1968 5.28am - Caroline is dead.
    **
    I held her in my arms this night, trying to keep her with me by sheer
    willpower alone. But she knew she wouldn't make it through till
    morning.
    She was so content. Everything was in order, all the arrangements
    had been made weeks ago for.....
    I can't think about this right now. I can't write what I'm feeling, what I
    need to say...I can't go on with this. Everything is too painful, it hurts
    so much. I want to lie down and go to sleep for ever, so that I don't
    have to think about life without my beloved Caroline.
    Why? Why did this have to happen? I just don't understand....
    --------------------------------------------------
    _(Robert stops writing in his journal at this point. A couple of months pass before the next entry.)
    _
    --------------------------------------------------
    It has been 2 and a half months since my last entry. I don't want to
    think about what I have been through, what I'm still going through.
    But I need to express it somehow and I can't bring myself to talk to
    anyone like this anymore. They just wouldn't understand.
    Tomorrow, I am returning to active duty. They have been remarkably
    understanding of my situation, and unhesitatingly granted me
    compassionate leave when I finally asked for it. But it was several
    weeks after Caroline's death before I realised that I needed some time
    to myself. Perhaps this is why I've found it so hard to come to terms
    with what's happened - because I tried to soldier on as best I could,
    forcing all my feelings down inside me and trying to shut them off.
    Go on with life as usual. I don't know...
    The first few weeks after the funeral, Mum and Dad could see
    something was wrong. They tried to talk to me, but I wouldn't listen.
    Ben and I stayed with them to start with. And that was difficult in
    itself. Poor Ben - he's just lost his Mother, and the Father that he
    hardly knows expects to walk into his life and continue as if nothing
    has happened. He was very quiet and withdrawn, but I hardly noticed.
    If it wasn't for Mother....she's been a tower of strength in a way I
    hadn't expected. In many ways she's very like Caroline - practical,
    realistic. And deep down there's that wealth of kindness, caring, compassion.
    She so rarely shows it nowadays, I tend to forget that it's there. But it
    is....and without it, I don't know if I'd still be here to write this.
    I don't know what brought it on. All I can remember is coming home
    one evening about a month after the funeral and sitting down at the
    dining table,telling everyone that I was going up to the Cabin, and
    that Ben would come with me. Caroline used to love the Cabin. We
    could never class it as a real home. It was more of a getaway....and
    she loved the time there. Just after we were married, things weren't
    going well between her and Mother. And if things got particularly
    hairy whilst I was on a posting, she would slip off to the Cabin. Mum
    said it was running away. But I knew why she went there...it was to
    be closer to me. She said she could feel my presence there. I still
    remember when she told me this.I had to pry it out of her, and when
    she finally told me, she blushed from ear to ear. I think she felt it
    was like admitting to a weakness.
    So I took Ben to the Cabin - to be closer to her, and to get to know
    my son. Well, that was the theory anyhow. It hasn't worked as well
    as I had hoped. Ben is a quiet, reserved child. I know that he has
    friends amongst the town children, but we've moved around so much,
    I don't think he likes to become really close to anyone, in case he
    has to leave them. The death of his Mother must have reinforced this.
    A few weeks together, just the two of us, would be a time for us to
    become closer. For him to understand that I will always be there for
    him, no matter how far away I might be. And so that I could try to
    explain that his Mum didn't want to leave him, that she had no choice.
    And that she loved him dearly and will continue to love him wherever
    she is.
    After a couple of weeks of stilted, difficult conversations, Ben and I
    were no nearer any sort of understanding. We lapsed into silence,
    and did most of the household chores, the hunting and fishing with
    little form of communication. In the end he would follow me around,
    a look of concentration on his face, watching everything I did. Perhaps
    it was his way of getting to know me...I know that I found it incredibly
    frustrating. I wanted to talk to him, to tell him how I felt, to hear him
    talk to me about his life with his Mother. But it was as if he wanted
    to keep his memories to himself, in case by sharing them they should
    somehow diminish. So I gave up, I didn't push him.
    A few weeks passed by, silence became easy and comfortable. We
    *had* reached some sort of understanding, because each of us would
    know what to do next - what the other was thinking. But I was
    crumbling inside. Being in the Cabin brought all my memories of
    Caroline back vividly and painfully. I should not have come here, I
    should have left as soon as I realised what was happening, instead I
    stayed because I didn't want to lose her again. And walking out of the
    Cabin, away from the memories, would be like a second death. So we
    stayed. And I dreamed of Caroline.
    A week ago - I think it was a week ago - something happened that
    changed all this. Ben and I had got into a routine over the weeks
    that didn't vary. In the mornings he would go outside and play on his
    own, rather than tagging round after me as I shambled through some
    sort of breakfast preparation.I think he was trying give me some room
    as well. Either that, or he couldn't bear the sight of what I did to
    perfectly reasonable ingredients. The result was always edible
    though! Anyhow, when the food was ready and on the table, there
    was no sign of Ben. He is always prompt - he seems to know the
    right place to be instinctively. I waited for a few minutes, then called
    his name. No reply. All of a sudden I had the distinct impression that
    I was being watched, by someone else in the room. I turned round to
    see who else was there. But the room was empty. The feeling didn't
    leave however, and I was getting very nervous. Where could Ben have
    got to? I grabbed a coat and wentout to look for him, calling all the
    while. I searched out the back of the barn first, since I knew this was
    a favourite spot of his, and sure enough I found him. He hadn't seen
    me coming round the corner of the building and before I had a chance
    to approach, I was halted by the scene in front of me. Ben was facing
    away from me, sitting with his back against a tree, talking to himself,
    or so it appeared. The conversation was in full flow and whoever was
    talking to him, was obviously giving him some sound advice. He
    smiled up at whoever it was and nodded his head several times at the
    air in front of him.
    'I know he's sad. So am I.'
    Silence.
    'I can't say that to him. He wouldn't like it.'
    Silence.
    'Because it's mushy. He doesn't like mushy stuff.'
    Silence.
    'Oh, all right. I will.....Are you going now?'
    Silence.
    'Will you come and see me again?'
    Silence. Ben's face registered utter disappointment at whatever the
    answer was to this question, and he hung his head dejectedly. I
    still couldn't see who he was talking to, and this worried me
    considerably. Perhaps I had been neglecting the boy too much,
    for him to start talking to imaginary friends. I stared at him for some
    time, wondering what to say, or whether to just go back to the
    Cabin and wait for him. He was bound to realise it was breakfast
    time soon.
    'Robert, you have to leave here. This isn't living. And it's not fair
    on our son.'
    Someone was speaking to me, someone with a familiar female voice.
    I looked across at Ben again, and *she* was standing there next to
    him.
    'Ben needs to be with people, to be with *all* his family, not just
    you. He knows that you love him. If you look closely you can see
    it in his face. And he loves you just as much. Give it time, Robert.
    You can't expect everything to fall into place over night. Be
    realistic!'
    Caroline was standing there, looking totally alive and healthy and
    she was speaking to me!!! I'll swear I heard the words out loud.
    And Ben was right beside her, and he didn't look up - didn't appear
    to notice her. I didn't know what to say. I just looked at her, mouth
    wide open looking like an idiot, no doubt. She was as lovely, as
    beautiful as I remembered her.
    'That's not surprising Robert, I'm not really here - I'm in your mind.
    So I will be with you where ever you are, wherever you go. You
    don't need to be here at the Cabin, to be with me. Because I am
    with you, always.'
    She smiled that sweet smile and walked over to me. I still hadn't
    said a word. I didn't need to, she knew exactly what was in my
    mind.
    'Robert dear, you look a mess...'
    She carried on walking past me and to the corner of the barn, then
    turned and looked back over her shoulder...
    'I love you. I will always love you. And I will be with you forever.'
    She disappeared round the corner of the building, and I was still
    standing rooted to the spot. I don't know whether it was an apparition;
    I don't know whether it was my mind playing tricks on me, or wishful
    thinking on my part.
    All I know was that for a brief moment, Caroline came back to me.
    Ben was still sitting by the tree. If he had been talking to her as well,
    he probably needed some time to pull himself together, so I
    back-tracked quietly to the Cabin. When I reached the steps, I
    shouted out hoarsely that it was breakfast time and walked back
    inside. He would come when he was ready.
    Caroline was right. I had stopped living. The evidence was staring
    me in the face. As I looked in the mirror, I saw a gaunt faced man,
    older than his years, with an untidy newly-grown beard. It was not
    a pretty picture. By the time I heard Ben's footsteps on the wooden
    boards, I had removed all the offending hair from my face. Not
    much better, but at least it was a start.
    Ben was sitting at the table by the time I returned from my room.
    He didn't look up at first, just sat there studying his hands on the
    table in front of him. I collected the bowls, and the cereal and
    walked over to him. He still didn't look up. As I stared down at
    him, I knew that what Caroline had said was right. Somehow I
    knew that he loved me, though no word had been said.
    And he knew that I loved him unconditionally. I had confused the
    need to talk, with the real communication between us, which
    wasn't verbal at all. Still I wanted to tell him this, to reassure him,
    but I found I couldn't vocalise what I wanted to say - as if by
    saying it, I would lessen it. The feeling went unexpressed. And
    the moment passed. I placed the bowl of cereal and chopped
    banana on the table and sat down beside him.
    'It will be all right Robert, you'll see.'
    I looked up, and Caroline was sitting at the other end of the
    table, smiling gently at both of us.
    'Ben may never tell you how much he loves you. Even at his tender
    age, he knows you....and your views on what he calls 'mushy' stuff.
    So he will stay quiet. But you will see it in his eyes. As I see it in
    yours, now.'
    I sat staring at her...trying to memorise every outline of her face
    before she disappeared again. I didn't realise that I was crying, until
    a light pressure fell on my arm - it was Ben's hand. When I looked at
    him, there was surprise and concern in his face. I wiped away the
    tears and told him there was nothing to be worried about, just a speck
    of dust in my eye. I know he didn't believe me for a moment.
    'Don't forget to give him my letter, Robert...when's he's old enough. I
    have to go now.....goodbye, my love.'
    I looked back to her in time to see the faintest outline of her face
    fade from view. I will not see her again, I know.
    Ben and I packed our bags that afternoon and set off home. Mum
    and Dad were glad to see us back, and have readily agreed to look
    after Ben, now that I'm returning to active duty. Ben is happy
    enough with the arrangement too. I know that he doesn't want me
    to go yet, but he understands that I have a duty, and that however
    much I love him, and loved his Mother, duty always comes first.
    Ben and I have spent the last few days since we got back talking....
    talking about everything and nothing. Anything that is, except our
    feelings. That's a place that neither of us want to venture at the
    moment. Perhaps one day....
    ---------------Robert's journal entry finishes at this point---------------
    The present day...
    Ben finished reading his Father's journal entry and sat stunned,
    looking at the sheaf of aged papers in his hands. Letters from his
    Mum to his Dad when they were just married, and his father's early
    journal entries, before she had died. He hadn't known of their
    existence, and it was sheer luck that he'd found them in the tin
    under the Cabin floorboards. And some-where amongst them
    hopefully, was a prize he had wished for all his life, but never
    thought possible. A letter to him from his Mother, just before she
    died. Why hadn't Dad passed it on to him, he wondered. But then
    he knew instantly. It would have been too painful at first, he and his
    father would have had to talk about it, about her. And then when
    Ben was old enough, his Dad had probably forgotten that he even
    had the letter.
    Much more importantly now, was it's present whereabouts. If his
    Dad had kept all these letters, surely he would have kept the one
    for his son too.
    Ben had been sitting on the floor in the same position for several
    hours, reading the correspondence. He shifted his position to ease
    the cramp out of his legs, and settled down again wondering what
    had happened to the letter his father referred to in the journal. He
    stared at the leather-bound diary, his thoughts elsewhere and as
    he opened the book, something fell from the musty yellow pages
    to fall onto the ground.
    Leaning over, he picked up a piece of yellowed paper on which an
    uncertain hand had scrawled writing.
    _"My beautiful blue-eyed boy Benton,"_ he read with a sense of
    growing disbelief.
    The End
    -------------------Copyright C. Budd & Koala, May 1996----------------
    No reproduction of this story, except for personal use, please.
    'Benton's Mother' Koala, continues directly on from this.


End file.
